Life´s Fleeting Glances
by kruemelchen
Summary: A case triggers bad memories for Greg.
1. Having a nice day

Disclaimer: Aren´t mine, never will be... if they were you would certainly see a lot more Greg.

A/N: In this fic Greg has a girlfriend and it´s not someone from the lab. Sorry, if that offends you but hey, it´s my story after all. Have fun.

************

**Afternoon – Home**

Consciousness came slowly, creeping towards him like fleeting voices – unable to hear them at first but getting louder with every passing moment. Slowly, his senses became aware of his surroundings: the steady beeping of his alarm clock on the nightstand, the soft golden glow of sunlight behind closed eyelids, the smell of fresh brewed coffee. The last one bringing a smile to his face.

Turning off the alarm clock, he settled back in bed, closing his eyes again, waiting. Moments later he could hear footsteps reverberating softly in the hall. The door creaked open and a couple of steps later, the right side of his bed dipped down. 

A smile was spreading across his face when she leaned over, gently kissing him on the lips. Her hair was tickling his face as it fell over her shoulders like summer rain. He opened his eyes to see her mischievious twinkle just before she started tickling him mercilessly.

"Hey, no fair!" he said with laughter in his voice while trying to squirm away from the tickling hands.

"All is fair in Love and War! Remember, you told me the same thing only yesterday." She answered with a smug expression on her face.

"That may be true but that were extenuating circumstances!" he tried to clarify, finally getting the upper hand and turning her around, straddling her legs.

"Now it´s my turn!" and thus, he began tickling her.

"Greg, no!" she exclaimed breathlessly.

"What do you say, huh?"

"Mmh...?"

"Oh c´mon. You know what you have to say: "Greg, you are the master of my universe, the sexiest man alive and I truly love your..."

"And here I thought it was supposed to be "uncle"!" she mumbled under her breath.

"Hey!"

"Greg?"

"Yeah"

"Do you smell that?" He met her with a blank expression which suddenly turned confused and then horrified.

"Oh shit, somehing´s burning!" he shot out of bed almost knocking her down in the process. One of the frying pans was heavily releasing smoke into the air, making it difficult to breathe. He grabbed the pan and quickly put it in the sink, turning on the water.

Melissa had followed him into the kitchen, now looking grimly at the chunks of black coal into which the slices of bacon had been turned.

Then, she raised her eyes at Greg with a hopeful look. "Coffee is fine though."

**Evening - Lab**

_San Francisco Bay_

_Past pier thirty nine_

_Early p.m._

_Can´t remember what time_

_Got the waiting cab_

_Stopped at the red light_

_Address, unsure of_

_But it turned out just right_

Greg was bobbing his head in tune to the music, drumming his fingers on the table, at the same time checking for traces of DNA under his microscope.

_It started straight off_

_"coming here is hell"_

_That´s the first words_

_We asked what he meant_

_He said "where ya´ from?"_

_We told him our lot_

_"when ya´ take a holiday_

_Is this what you want?"_

Come to think of it, when was the last time he had a vacation? He had to ask Gissom later. And, thinking of the devil, through the window he saw Grissom heading towards his lab apparently holding some kind of evidence in his hands.

_So have a nice day _

_Have a nice day_

_So have a nice day _

_Have a nice day_

_So have a nice day _

_Have a nice day_

"New taste in music, Greg?" Grissom asked with mildly raised eyebrows.

"Ah, you know me, always gotta try out new stuff. And they´re really good, by the way."

Grissom just looked at him dubiously.

_Lie around all day_

_Have a drink to chase _

_"yourself and tourists, yeah_

_That´s what I hate"_

_He said we´re going wrong_

_We´ve all become the same_

_We dress the same ways _

_Only our accents change_

"So, anyway, what can I do for you?"

"Did you find out what kind of substance was on the rope?"

Shuffling around some papers, Greg found what he was looking for and handed it to Grissom.

"Yes, and it wasn´t motor oil, as we suspected, it was cod-liver oil actually. Surprising, huh? I mean what kind of guy uses that stuff anymore?"

"The kind that strangled an innocent man." Grissom told him in a slightly reprimanding tone of voice.

_So have a nice day_

_Have a nice day_

_So have a nice day_

_Have a nice day_

_So have a nice day_

_Have a nice day_

The music was the only sound in the lab for a few moments as both men were deeply lost in thought.

Grissom was trying to figure out all the angles of their current case, his mind processing the information he had just learned. The case involved Vincent Carmell, a wealthy and well respected business man in his late forties that was found in his car strangled with a rope just the day before. They didn´t have any major leads so far, since the murderer obviously knew what he was doing and didn´t leave any usable evidence behind, other than the rope that is.

And Greg, he wasn´t really sure what to think. He had only tried to lighten the mood. He should have guessed that Grissom wouldn´t or couldn´t understand. In his opinion you could either let the circumstances get to you and eat you away or you could try to cope. And that´s what he did. It was his way of dealing with those kinds of situations. But that didn´t mean that he was being insensitive, did it?

_Swim in the ocean_

_That be my dish_

_I drive around all day_

_And kill processed fish_

_It´s all money gum_

_No artists anymore_

_You´re only in it now_

_To make more, more, more_

Seemingly becoming aware that he was still in the lab, Grissom shook himself out of his reverie. He had some work to finish after all. He regarded Greg a moment before he handed him the evidence of a new case.

"Sarah Johnson, age 16, was found in Cashman Field this morning. On first inspection it looked like suicide but on further investigation some things didn´t add up. I want you to have a look at this. Find out what kind of medicine was in that bottle. Page me as soon as you got anything."

Before Greg could ask why the dayshift wasn´t working the case, Grissom had already left.

_So have a nice day_

_Have a nice day_

_So have a nice day_

_Have a nice day_

_So have a nice day_

_Have a nice day_

_Have a nice day_

_Have a nice day_

_Have a nice day_

Yeah, Greg thought, "have a nice day" and turned off the music.

*******

OK, the first chapter is up. I hope to be able to continue this story soon. We´ll see.

The song used is "Have a nice day" from the Stereophonics. If you have the time, try to check it out – it´s worth it!


	2. In Sarah´s case

**Morning – Cashman Field**

Sometimes, time is running by so fast you don´t even know what struck you – when hours turn into minutes, and minutes into seconds. And then, there are times, when everything just stops – when the hands of the clock are moving in slow motion and you´re not sure if they will stop altogether in that moment, that next second. And you cling to that instant like it´s your saviour. Embracing it with your body, mind and soul.

For Sarah Johnson it were those agonizing, sheer endless seconds, when her world ceased to exist as she knew it. Because, soon, she would know no more.

Do you know what it feels like when your body doesn´t obey the commands your brain sends? When it´s a struggle to draw in a single breath. What an effort it takes to open your eyes when they shut themselves ´cause they´re so heavy? When you know that there won´t be a tomorrow? 

No more holding your loved ones in your arms, your safe haven in times of trouble. No more running to school because you just missed your bus, again. No more feeling the summer rain on your face or watching the stars at night. No more laughing. 

No more. Never more.

Because you just won´t be there. Never again.

Sarah knew. And that was perhaps the hardest thing. When you know you´re dying and you´re not able to change anything about it. When you fight a war you can´t possibly win and still put all your effort in it because you think that there´s still that tiny chance that you will win. 

But you won´t.

As the struggles in her body stopped, she turned her face upwards looking into the seemingly endless sky. And, as everything else ceased, a tear slid out of the corner of her eye, making it´s path across her face like a hand caressing it a last time. A final goodbye, maybe. A little comfort.

Rays of golden sunlight were beginning to catch glances of her prone form, making her pallor shine, hugging her.

He leaned over her, studying her expressionless face. Her blank stare seemed to bore right into him, accusing him of the crimes that she knew him to have done. His hand hovered near her face seeking contact which he would not give. He traced her  facial contours still avoiding to touch her. Afraid, but also strangely relieved. The pressure that had so long been building, was gone. The weight had shifted. And his mind that had screamed so long, was quiet. 

He stood up and with one last glance, walked away.

**Night – Lab**

The lab was quiet except for the incessant humming of some of the machines. Greg was studying a sample of the unknown liquid Grissom had given him earlier. But he wasn´t really into it, swirling thoughts of the dead girl occupied his mind.

Dead at 16? She hadn´t even lived, yet. Hadn´t known what life was all about. All the fun and sorrows, all the fights and make-ups afterwards. Parties. The list was endless of things she would never have a chance to witness or to experience. 

What was he like at 16, again? Well, he sure had fun, used every opportunity to flirt, had some girlfriends as well. Good friends and great parties to celebrate. And he was kind of goofy. Sometimes the nerd.

Greg sighed, what use did it have to ponder about things long gone? He couldn´t change them. Not anymore. He could only try to live with the consequences caused by his actions. 

But the girl, she wouldn´t see the devastating effect her death would have on her family or friends. 

She wouldn´t be the bearer of the bad news, when the police would knock on the door and say those shattering words to her family. Cries would be heard, denials, breakdown. But she wouldn´t be there, she wouldn´t come back. Nothing would ever be the same again for her family.

Damn. He didn´t want to have to relive the whole thing again. It was bad enough as it was without having to think about "him" again.

But why did people kill themselves, at that age no less? You´re not supposed to think about death at 16. More like the opposite. You´re supposed to be out, having fun with your friends, go to the movies. You´re supposed to live. To breathe. To be.

The beeping of a machine erased the next thought as if it never had existed. The results of the analysis were printed out neatly on the white paper. Black on white. Just like life. No gray.

The liquid was identified as pentobarbital.

Greg scanned the paper quickly, then paged Grissom. He sat back and waited.

A couple of minutes later, he saw Grissom heading towards his lab.

"What have you got for me?"

"The liquid is Nembutal aka pentobarbital."

"A barbiturate." It wasn´t a question.

Greg nodded. "It´s commonly used to produce calmness and relax muscles. Also, with barbiturates there is less difference between the amount that produces sleep and the amount that kills."

"Yes, but how did she get that much, in liquid form no less?"

"If she went to the right person in school or stole someones prescription or the stuff itself, who knows?"

"Maybe but it still doesn´t explain why she did it."

"You mentioned earlier that something didn´t add up. What was that?"

"Well, the first thing is that she did it at a fairly public place. Suicide victims tend to kill themselves in familiar but very secluded places. They know that they will be found eventually but they don´t risk themselves being disturbed when they do it." Greg nodded absently, he knew all that already.

"The second thing is that we found several footprints near her body although it seems that if she has known the person she didn´t fight him."

"Why do you think it´s a "him"?"

"The footprints would only match a man´s shoes. They were a size ten."

"What if it was a "she" who was only wearing them to mess with us?"

"Then the pattern on the ground wouldn´t match. The shoes would be too wide for her feet and the pressure with which the imprint was done wouldn´t be as intense. Also, there would be some shuffling marks if the shoes were too big, which we didn´t find. No, it was definitely a man." Grissom concluded and continued, "Furthermore, we didn´t find a note. Most victims leave one to explain themselves and their actions."

"But not all of them."

"No." A disturbing bout of silence followed.

"Were there any other finger-prints on the bottle?" Greg asked.

"No."

Greg sighed, they weren´t getting anywhere. Sometimes he hated this part of the job when you were stuck and didn´t have any direction to go. Times when the figuring out wasn´t getting the desired results. He was a person who didn´t have a lot of patience, he wanted the cases solved with the bad guys going to jail. Where justice was served. But life wasn´t as easy. Unfortunately.

Someone in the hall called Grissom and he left, breaking Greg out of his thoughts.

"You´re welcome." Greg mumbled under his breath as he watched Grissom´s retreating back.


	3. Walking the thin red line

**  A/N: This piece of fic is pretty depressing, so if you´re uncomfortable with heavy emotional stuff, do not read this! **

***********

**Car – Next Morning**

The trees were a blur, painting the sidewalks in a stream of passing green. Buildings seemed to flow together, creating a high wall of no beginning or end. The faces of people were like floating masks, mingling together into one sick grimace. 

At least he was safe inside his car. It was his shield from the outside world, from reality. His secret little hideout. 

If you weren´t looking too closely he would seem calm to you, even relaxed, but his eyes were telling a different story altogether. They were like a churning sea on the verge of a thunderstorm, because, in truth, he just felt confused, angry and numb. Like all those years ago. Helpless in a way where you don´t know what to say or do. You just sit there with the hope that you will wake up tomorrow and everything will have been a bad dream. A mad game your mind played on you. And then, it´s the next day and it wasn´t a dream because the nighmare has become reality and now there is no escaping it.

He was holding the steering wheel in a vice-like grip as if afraid to let go. He had never been good at letting go, he clung to people. Sometimes to the point where it became obsessed. Everbody who knew him well enough had told him so over time. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult all of a sudden. Sweat was slowly dotting his forehead, forming a pattern of despair and heartache. The lump in his throat that had begun making itself known only a few hours ago, was now pulsing and growing bigger with every single heartbeat. His heart itself was beating a staccato rhythm all its own. His blood was rushing through his veins as if on a mad race trying to outrun his body. Suddenly, his car became too stiffling, too hot. He couldn´t breathe. He had to get out. Now.

Swerving into the next parking lot, he hurried out of the car and promptly threw up on the pavement. He didn´t know how long he stood there, bent over and retching out all his pent-up emotions. A moment, maybe two. Time didn´t matter. What mattered was that this one person was dead. Absent in his life.

After he was done, his legs didn´t seem to have the energy to hold him up anymore. They were buckling under his own weight, maybe more.

So, he just sat there. The cold morning air wrapped itself around him like a blanket. He was starting to shiver. Tremors like small earthquakes were spreading across his frame. He couldn´t stop it. His control was slipping. It felt like a hand was trying to squeeze his heart to a nonexisting dot on that large scale called life.

He kept seeing it in his mind´s eye as if it had happened only yesterday: commotion outside the house, the bright flashing lights of the police car. The unexpected knock on the door. 

This couldn´t be happening. No. This wasn´t happening. No. He clamped his eyes shut. He felt like crying. No. One sob. Then another. Accompanied by the steady tunes of his car radio.

_I´ve got some scattered pictures lying on my bedroom floor_

_Reminds me of the times we shared_

_Makes me wish that you were here_

_Now it seems I´ve forgotten my purpose in this life_

_All the songs have been erased_

_Guess I´ve learned from my mistakes_

Sobs were wracking his body, shaking him like a leaf. Anguish tore at his throat. He couldn´t catch his breath. His eyes stung. Something wet was leaving a trail down his face, tasting salty when it touched his lip. He opened his eyes and followed one tear as it dropped from his chin, landing on the ground. He could almost hear its terminating splash as it merged with the pavement. 

_Open the past and present now and we are there_

_Story to tell and I am listening_

_Open the past and present and the future too_

_It´s all I´ve got and I´m giving it to you_

_Loose ends tied in knots leaving a lump down in my throat_

_Gagging on a souvenir_

_Lodged to fill another year_

_Drag it on and on until my skin is ripped to shreds_

_Leaving my self wide open_

_Living out a sacrifice_

_If you got no one and I got no place to go_

_Would it be alright? Could it be alright?_

Minutes passed. Hours? He didn´t know nor did he care. What difference did it make anyway.

Now, he just sat there, staring into the void his life had become. How had everything gone downhill so fast? Spiraling towards nothingness. Just yesterday all had been fine. He had even laughed with Melissa. He loved her, she loved him. As simple as that. But now, it all seemed like a lifetime ago. If he could look into a mirror now, he surely would see another face, another person. He wouldn´t recognize himself because it wouldn´t be him. It would be someone else staring back. A grimace made up of his past, of all those forgotten memories. 

He wanted to scream. To curse. He just wanted ... him back. And that was impossible. As impossible as catching stars at night with your bare hands. A dream. Nothing more. A wish not to be granted. An illusion shattered by life.

He felt empty. Kind of sagged in on himself. As if someone had sucked the air right out of his body along with his energy.

His heart was thundering in his chest. He was choking on the heavy gulps of air forced into his lungs. The rushing in his ears was getting louder wih every thud of his racing heart.

And then.

Silence.

Oblivion.

"... all right?"

He became aware of voices. He blinked. Standing over him was a woman, maybe in her mid-thirties. Her face had that hard quality to it when you work too much and live even less.

He gave her a puzzled frown. Noticing that she had caught his attention, she asked again.

"Are you all right?"

He looked first at her, then around himself, then back up at her. He shook his head. A forlorn expression on his face. 

"No." he mumbled to himself. Nothing was all right. Ignoring her, he scrambled to his feet. A wave of dizziness washed over him, making him feel lightheaded. He stumbled the few steps toward his vehicle. 

The car was just as he had left it: the key in the ignition, motor running, radio on. He got in and drove away feeling even worse than before. He was getting nervous. He had to do something, anything to stop that pain.

But how?

How can you stop the pain of losing your only brother?

*******

I admit, this one was depressing. But that´s just how you feel if you have lost a person you loved very much. I know, because it happened to me.

I promise to make it a bit lighter in the next chap! By the way, the song is "Scattered" from Green Day.


	4. Silence is easy

**Noon – Cashman Field**

_He just wept   
Like I could not ignore   
How can I act   
When my heart's on the floor?   
  
He just wept   
Til his eyes became sore   
I knew who he was   
But I don't anymore   
   
He just cried   
To the ruins of time   
That kept us apart   
We were doing just fine   
  
_

Silence is always easy when you don´t have a lot to say. You just listen and take note of their whispers.Your look travels over their faces, mapping their mimic when they say something. You watch their lips move in synchronization with the produced sounds. Sometimes, the words are clear for you to understand and you smile because it all makes sense. You nod your head accordingly. And other times, the words are jumbled, making no sense whatsoever and you´re getting kind of lost. Like a child that´s getting lost in the havoc of grown-ups.

Greg was like that child, unable to find his way out of that surreal world he was trapped in. Where sounds were swallowed by an oppressing silence.

And, where the past was real. Where his innermost thoughts took form and images played across his mind´s eye as if captured on film. 

In that moment, silence wasn´t bliss. Quite far from it, actually.

He wanted to pull himself together. Had tried to do so more times than he could remember, and every time he had failed.

Perhaps, that´s what he was: a failure. To himself. To his parents. 

To Ian.

Ian. His name sounded strange in the vast emptiness of his mind. 

His little brother. Companion. Friend.

He missed him but hadn´t thought of him in a long time before the case, truth to be told. 

An image flashed across his mind: brown eyes, twinkling with mirth. The corners of his mouth upturned. Ready to laugh, to take on the world. Instead, the world had taken him. 

A second later and it was already fading away.

He couldn´t remember what he had sounded like. When he tried to he could only see his lips move, but no voice was forthcoming. He was straining to hear the words but it was no use. The laughter had been silenced.

What would he give to listen to Ian again. Just one word. Maybe a sentence. It didn´t really matter as long as he could. 

People often didn´t realize that even if he did tend to talk a lot, he was a listener by nature. He liked to absorb everything in his environment. Analyze it. He was like Grissom in that respect, only that he also put most of his thoughts into words. 

And now, even words were failing him. Again. Failure.

He was tired. Maybe he should lie down for a while.

  
.

.

.

The ringing of his cell phone interrupted his sleep.

Disoriented and disconnected he shook himself awake.

His hands trembled as he pulled his cell phone out of his pockets and answered the incoming call.

He tried to say "hello" but his mind couldn´t grasp the concept to form the words in his mouth.

"Greg, are you there?" 

Melissa. His beloved Melissa. Maybe she could help him. She would understand.

"Mel, I need you." His voice quivered slightly. He had to swallow several times to just get the words out.

"Greg, what´s wrong? What happened? Why didn´t you come home?"

"Can you come and get me?" he said, ignoring her questions. He sounded like a small, frightened child.

"Where are you?"

Silence.

"Greg, are you there? Greg?" Concern slowly turned into serious worry.

"Cashman Field."

Before she could say anything else, the silence on the other end was replaced by the steady beeping of the dial tone.

*******

The lyrics in the beginning are originally from Starsailor´s song "She just wept". As you can see, I took some liberties and changed the song a bit to match the story. But I think, it fits.

Since this chap is a bit short, there will be another update soon.


	5. Holes in heaven

_There´s a lot of comfort_

_in the thought_

_That sorrow, grief, and woe_

_Are sent into our lives sometimes_

_To help our souls to grow._

It´s quite simple, really. When a warm hand touches a cold hand, heat is transferred to the cold one because of the difference in temperature. Heat is energy in transit; it always flows from a substance at a higher temperature to the substance at a lower temperature, raising the temperature of the latter and lowering that of the former.

It´s not of importance to know that, of course, because in real life we don´t take notice of the hows or whys. We experience them and that´s good enough in our opinion.

What´s really important is that warmth gives us something we long for and what we seek unconsciously. Maybe because warmth mostly means contact. With another person. It´s when we feel most comfortable. Who doesn´t like being hugged by someone he loves, after all? When you soak up that person´s warmth and let it envelop you. That familiar feeling you recognize instantly and claim as your own.

Greg didn´t notice at first. Something was making the cold on his face vanish with touches as light as a feather. His skin clung to that warmth, soaking it up into its very core.

He turned his head a bit to the source of that slight comfort.

"Greg?"

There was that voice again. A voice he recognized. Hadn´t he talked to it just a second ago? He wasn´t sure. He was walking in a haze. Thinking was hard.

"Greg?" 

"Can you hear me?"

Another touch, this time to his shoulder. It was shaking him gently. The warmth lingered there also.

"Can you tell me what happened?" 

He didn´t like the concern in that voice. It usually sounded different, happier. He tried to place a face to that voice. His mind was already beginning to solve the puzzle, painting the first contours. And a short while later, there it was in stark contrast to his otherwise empty mind.

Melissa.

He raised his head, and for the first time, really saw her.

"Yeah, that´s it. Look at me." 

Worried green eyes stared back at his troubled brown ones. If eyes were windows to the soul then one thing was for certain: his soul was lost. Trapped in a dark place between here and there. 

"Mel?"

"Yeah." A smile. Another caress to his face.

"Greg, what are you doing here? What happened?"

He looked away trying to avert her gaze. 

"She died here." Breathe.

"Who?"

He couldn´t form the words. This was too hard.

"Greg, who died here?"

Just breathe.

"Sarah. She was only 16." His mouth was dry. He felt his heart pick up speed again. "Just like Ian." He managed to add in a whisper.

A sharp intake of breath. A minute to gather her thoughts.

"Did you know her?"

He shook his head. No, he hadn´t known her. Wouldn´t ever know her. Wouldn´t see her mature. 

Just like he hadn´t with Ian.

"How did she die?" Another whisper. Afraid of the answer.

"Suicide." Bile wanted to rise in his throat again. He suppressed the urge to vomit, however.

The hand on his chin made him look up. What he saw there surprised him. He hadn´t expected that sheer look of sadness. Compassion maybe. But her eyes, they were glistening with unshed tears. And then, he understood.

It was for him. 

She felt his pain as if it was her own. And that was perhaps the greatest gift of all.

One tear managed to escape and he raised his hand to catch it. His cold finger meeting her skin just below her cheek. He marvelled at her warmth and traced her face till his finger touched her lips. He seemed fascinated by her mouth. After a while he began.

"He always loved to talk. More so than I do. If we let him carry on, he just wouldn´t stop. He drove everyone crazy with it. But, that´s also what we loved about him. And, he had boundless energy. He was always moving, couldn´t seem to sit still."

Swallow. A deep breath. A look into her eyes. Strength. Urging him to continue.

"It happened in my senior year. We went to the same school. He was a sophomore."

Bittersweet memories invaded his mind. His gaze drifted into the distance taking him to a place long forgotten.

*****

"Greg, Ian. Supper´s ready!" The voice carried upstairs getting the deserved attention when, after a few seconds, footsteps reverberated in the hall.

After everyone was seated at the table, conversation began in between and around  bites.

"So, how was school today?" Anne Sanders asked her sons.

A look passed between the two boys. Greg nodded his head as if to say "go ahead". Not one to be asked twice, Ian eagerly launched into his story.

"Well, you all know there were try-outs for track today, right?" Not waiting for an answer, he continued. "My PE coach suggested that I should give it a try. And, voila, they want me. I´m in. Can you believe it? It´s only Junior Varsity, but hey, this time next year it may be Varsity. Pretty cool, huh?" He told them with a big grin on his face.

Surprised looks from both his parents met his exuberant declaration. The only one not affected was Greg. His dad looked from Ian to him.

"Did you know this, Greg?" Paul Sanders asked his oldest with raised eyebrows.

"Yeah, why? Is there a problem?" Greg asked, slightly puzzled.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the fact that there was indeed a problem, he said instead. "You know that he barely made the 9th grade. How is he supposed to manage both school and sports?"

Greg was about to answer when Ian said angrily "Helloooo, I´m still in the room! And besides, it´s my decision after all!" 

"Not if you may have to repeat this year again because of it." 

"And just how do you know that I won´t be able to do both and do it well, too?"

"Because you showed us last year that you have enough trouble keeping up with school as it is."

"But it´s only the beginning of the year. And my grades have been pretty decent so far."

"I don´t know if you should call several Cs and Ds "pretty decent"?"

Since Ian wasn´t one to back down easily, he tried to convince his dad otherwise.

"Well, if Greg would help me I´m sure I can handle it." 

Thank you, little bro! Greg thought sarcastically. There goes my free time. 

"Good idea, son."

Oh, no! Please don´t say yes, dad! I´m begging you here.

"So, I can do it?"

"Now, I didn´t say that, did I?"

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

"What do you want me to do?" Ian sighed, resigning himself to his fate.

Oh come on, dad. Don´t negogiate. Please!

"Let´s make a deal. If you can, with the Greg´s help, turn your grades around then I will allow you to join the team next semester. If you don´t then there won´t be another discussion about this. Are we clear on that?"

Thank you. Really!

After a short moment of consideration, he agreed. "You have yourself a deal."

Greg was about to voice his opinion when his father shot him a stern look.

"That won´t be a problem, right, Greg?" Greg was uncertain how to answer that. On the one hand, he didn´t like not to be asked when it concerned himself and his spare time. On the other hand, it wasn´t like he had a choice because of two things: when his dad demanded something you did it without asking questions. And one look over to his brother and the hopeful expression on his face, well, how could he say no to that?

"No, sir, it won´t." Ian shot him a silent thank you. Which Greg answered with a "you owe me" look.

*****

"It was actually a lot of fun which I wouldn´t have thought, ever. But it made us even closer." Greg reminisced. "And, his grades did improve. Drastically, if I may say so."

When he didn´t continue, Melissa asked what happened next.

"None of us noticed at the time but he changed ever so slightly after dad allowed him to join the team. None of us knew." Greg shook his head. As if to forget.

*******

I´m gonna explain in the next chap what happened to Ian. So, stay tuned!


	6. Let me fall

**A/N:** I know, I have been neglecting this story – that was due to a lot of things but mainly because I wanted to finish my website (which I did; go check it out: www.kruemelwelten.de) and, of course, RL kept me quite busy also. 

Thanks again to RainbowsnStars for her help and patience.

Well, enough said and on with the story.

_*****_

_"Peace comes from within. Do not seek it without."  _Buddha

***** 

A lot of things in life don't make sense. Most are confusing. And from what little we understand of life in general, that's not unusual. We search for answers and end up with even more questions. But there's a certain rule to that: it's life's circle. 

A circle that eventually ends. For everyone. No exceptions.

And that's hard for anyone to accept.

Hard for me. For you. 

For Greg.

Greg wrapped his arms around himself and focused his gaze on the ground before him. He had to pause for a moment and then, took a deep breath to continue his story.

"One evening, Ian burst into the living room and told us that he would go and visit some friends of his. Dad didn't want him to; it was a school night after all. They had quite a quarrel but Ian just wouldn't back down. When dad noticed that they wouldn't come to an agreement, he simply grounded him. You can imagine how well that went over with Ian. He was fuming when he was sent to his room. And, knowing Ian as I did, I suspected that he would try something and followed him."

*****

Greg silently approached Ian's door. Taking a look around and spotting no one else, he softly knocked on the door, "Ian?".

When he didn't get a response, he tried it again, a little louder this time.

"Ian!"

He reached for the doorknob and turned it. When he pushed the door open, the first thing that greeted him was a cool gust of wind, which turned his attention to the opened window.

"Damn it, Ian, what have you gotten yourself into now?" Greg mumbled under his breath and hurried to the window. He discovered Ian, as he was about to jump from the roof of the patio. 

"Ian, wait up!"

But Ian paid him no heed and continued his journey. Quickly coming to a decision, Greg climbed through the window frame and followed his brother.

Greg hurried after him, yelling: "Ian!". As he reached him, Greg grabbed his arm and jerked him around to face him.

"Damn it, Greg, let me go!" Ian answered annoyed, trying to free himself from Greg's grasp, all the while avoiding his questioning gaze.

"Not before you tell me what's wrong with you."

"Nothing."

"Nothing? So that's why you freaked out in there just now? Because of nothing?" Greg barely held himself in check. He wanted answers and the only person who could give them was stubbornly refusing to do so. He stared intently at Ian, who in turn looked at the ground.

"Ian, please. I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

Ian looked at the ground, his shoulders sagged and he sighed. 

"C'mon li'l bro, give me something to work with." Greg said quietly. The muscles under his hand relaxed ever so slightly. Greg rubbed his thumb over the tight cords.

Heaving another sigh, Ian raised his eyes to meet Greg's. 

"I..." Nervously biting his lip, he thought for a few moments before giving an answer, "I got some trouble with the track team and...Shit, I just can't."  

"What happened? What did they do to you?" 

"Forget it, OK." 

"Ian, c'mon, tell me what happened. Maybe I can help you."

But Ian refused to listen and told him instead: "I said forget it." 

"You want me to get dad and tell him about your little escape, huh?" Greg hated to have to blackmail his own brother but he didn't have a choice. This just wasn't like Ian.

"Why don't you just leave me the fuck alone!" Ian pulled free of Greg's grasp and ran.

"Ian!"

Ian didn't seem or want to hear and dashed further down the street to be swallowed by the night.

*****

"That was the last time I saw him alive. And you know what the worst thing about this is?" Greg looked at Melissa with tears in his eyes, "I could have stopped him." His voice was forlornly quiet. 

He shook his head and continued: "I should have tried harder to get him to talk. I should have"

Melissa interrupted him when she placed her fingers over his lips and whispered  "shh".

"Greg, it's not your fault. Your parents didn't know what he would do. How could you?" She finished softly.

Instead of answering her question, Greg said harshly, "We should have realized that something was wrong!" He felt the guilt of that night weighing him down again. What had settled across his shoulders so many years ago, was trying to press him into the ground. And he couldn't seem to escape. His soul was shattered into thousands of tiny fragments and picking up the pieces never came easy.

Melissa was rendered silent by the small outburst. Although it was expected, she was still a bit unsettled by it. That was so unlike Greg. The Greg she knew and loved was funny, always had the right words to spring from his mouth to make her feel special although he was the one that was special. So very special. 

He made her see life through his eyes. She saw colors she had never known before. Experienced things one could only dream of. And, most of all, felt the love he had for her in every breath he breathed, in every word he spoke and in every kiss they stole. 

For her, Greg meant pure life and seeing him like this made her heart ache, and all the colors fade away into black and white.

"Why?" Her quiet question startled him. 

"Why what?"

"Why did he do it?"

Greg gazed at her intently, almost disturbingly so.

"Because he was raped."

The words struck Melissa like a blow. Her eyes became incredibly large and her breath caught in her throat.

"He was a such free spirit. And they took that away from him."

*****

Sweat ran in rivulets down his body. His breath came in short gasps.

"Hey, Sanders, what's up? Harvey making you run extra rounds, huh?"

"Yeah." Ian eyed Cory suspiciously. Something was off about him. Cory Matthews, aka the "All-Star", would never get as low as to talk to him. "He's always hard on the first years cause he wants champs in the second year. Hell, he even made me do this! But, it did help."

Ian gave him a nervous smile, "Yeah, well, I hope it will pay off for me as well.".

"Sure. Why shouldn't it? I mean, you're in great shape as it is, right?"

"Uh uh." As Cory advanced into his personal space, Ian took a step back.

"Hey, man, what are you doing?" He asked, slightly unnerved.

"Relax. We're just gonna have some fun."

"I don't think so." Shaking his head, Ian was about to turn around when Cory caught his wrist.

"Let me go!"

"Let me think about that. Hm, no." That was no game anymore. This was serious. Ian thought fast and kneed Cory in his crotch. Backing away from Cory, Ian was brought to an abrupt stop as he ran into someone. Arms snaked out from behind him, capturing him. He struggled to free himself, to no avail. He was pushed face first into one of the benches.

"What are you doing!?"

Cory came into his line of sight and whispered into his ear: "Payback's a bitch, Sanders."

"Stop it!"

"Please."

"Aw, c'mon. It ain't all that bad. You'll see."

"No, Cory. Please!" Ian clenched his eyes shut. This wasn't happening.

*****

"We found out after they did the autopsy. He didn't leave a letter, so we had nothing else to go on."

"How did you find out who did it?"

"There was still semen in his body."

The silence seemed to stretch into forever until Greg said, "Nothing was ever the same after that. Our family became distanced. Instead of gathering strength from each other, we only pulled further apart. No one spoke to anyone. There was just that oppressing feeling everywhere. Mom completely withdrew into herself. Only talked when she was spoken to. And, her eyes, they were void of any signs of life. My dad found his refuge in alcohol. There wasn't an evening when he wouldn't swallow his grief in a bottle of beer."

"And you? What about you, Greg?"

"Me? I learned to cope."

*******

To be continued...


End file.
